


He is a work of fiction

by Keenir



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Fortunately unfortunately, Gen, Humor, I confused the Pairings with the Ratings - sorry, I'm not sure when Vulcan stopped being a planet, Multi, Not a Crossover, Spoilers up to 'The Geek Interpreter', no PDAs - all pairings just in proximity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 02:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18929554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keenir/pseuds/Keenir
Summary: Watson writes.  Mary writes.  Everybody writes.  :)





	He is a work of fiction

Fortunately, Sherlock was comfortably perched on a ledge overlooking the floor below where John Watson was sleeping.

Unfortunately, Watson woke up with a 'why am I not surprised you're up there?' look on his face.

Fortunately, Watson had a permission slip from Mary.

Unfortunately it was in Watson's mouth.

Fortunately the permission slip was folded and not balled up.

Unfortunately the ledge crumbled before he could take a step to the bed below.

Fortunately, Watson was below him.

Unfortunately, owing to the curvature and rotation of the Earth, Sherlock's fall was making him veer to the left.

Fortunately, Irene Adler was there.

Unfortunately, he was also going to miss her.

Fortunately, there was a full-body pillow at that spot on the floor.

Unfortunately, Sherlock went right through the pillow.

Fortunately, the floor was thinnest there.

Unfortunately, the basement floor was wet.

Fortunately, it soaked up his impact.

Unfortunately, it also soaked Sherlock.

Fortunately, it didn't remind him of any flammable or detonatable fluids he had ever come across.

Unfortunately, he doubted it could be licked off, either.

Fortunately, it didn't smell of toxins.

Unfortunately, it reeked of potatoes.

Fortunately, Sherlock was able to walk up and out of the basement.

Unfortunately he had to break the basement door's lock.

Fortunately, when he stepped onto the floor beyond the door to the basement, he saw Irene and John in bed waiting.

Unfortunately, they didn't seem to like the smell on him anymore than Sherlock himself did.

Fortunately, they extended their arms to him, willing to tolerate the odor.

* * *

Mary smiled.   "While I like this more, I suspect your friends at The Strand wouldn't pay as well for this sort of account of you and Sherlock."

"Thats why its for you and you alone," John said, tucking himself and her in while she read in bed, watching the little faces she made as she had gone over this latest literary try of his.

"John?" she asked him.

"Hm?"

 _I see what you did there._ "While I think you'd be safer with Irene than with Sherlock, I also think," Mary said with a smile and giving him a kiss, "that so long as you ask and I answer you, you can involve Sherlock. Just not Mycroft." 

Watson nodded.  "No Mycroft.  I wouldn't have ever asked, anyway."

"Just so we're clear," Mary said.

* * *

"Why are you showing this to me?" Sherlock asked.  "For that matter, why did you write all this?"

"You may be able to lark about in the middle of the night, Mr. Holmes, but I don't care to," Mary said.  "So I killed time by writing that before coming here to ask your help."

"My help?" his eyes taking in her figure and how she differed today from past days when she and he had sparred verbally.  

"Ear trouble?  I hear thats going around these days, though I didn't think you worked those fields."

"I'm not your favorite person," Holmes said _, to state the obvious that is obvious to anyone and I suspect everyone._

"Only my favorite person is my favorite person.  Hardly surprising that anyone else, isn't."

He smiled at that.  "True," he recognized.  "So, what can I do for you?  What insoluble trouble brings you to my apartment?"

"I'm pregnant," Mary said.

"My congratulations to yourself and Watson.  I still fail to see how I'm involved in this."

 _Ugh._ "My husband trusts you.  You are the best friend he's managed to keep."

_Not sure I care for that qualifier, but, so long as its accurate..._

"This will be better for him to hear coming from you."

Sherlock blinked, and nearly let his jaw drop.  "You..."

"Yes?"

"You're a madwoman."

"Me?" Mary asked, amused.  "He might be slightly disappointed that I might not be on hand to embrace and lift off my feet, spinning me a few times like Venus." _And I'd like to retain internally what food I haven't already disgorged._

"Vulcan, perhaps," Sherlock quipped.

"No," she informed him.  "But I'm sure you'll inform him during a case or an investigation, perhaps even trying your hand at a second celebration in his honor?"

"My lady, how could I refuse?" Sherlock asked, bowing to her.

 _Obfuscatingly again, I'd wager_ , Mary thought, replying with a courtsey.

* * *

Having listened to her every word while perusing that fiction, Sherlock set down the pages.  While he could normally pay attention to a dozen things at once, this was one of those times he preferred to give 100% of his focus to one input.  In this case, the potential client on his sofa, liquid eyes gazing gently and intelligently at him.

"So," the femme fatale asked, stretching her legs, "Will you take my case?"

"I believe I will," Sherlock said.  "Though you are not as anon as you may wish to be, nor as you may think yourself to be.  While your makeup is expertly applied, right down to your nail polish, as well as the hair dye for those locks which escape your rather cheerful cap, it is your eyes that allowed me to identify you."

"My green eyes?" she asked, feigning noncomprehension, and they both knew it.

"Green irises are not uncommon.  However, given that both your pupils and the whites of your eyes are tinged green as well, you can only be the veritable Doctor Pamela Isley."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for using that given name, and not the name I used to use, in my more...socially active days."

"Please, call me Sherlock."

* * *

"WATSON!"

Joan walked into the room.  "Oh good, you found it."

Sherlock stared at her.  "Are you telling me this was not written by your father and given to you as some misguided attempt to patch over what has not yet fully been repaired?"   _Because the thought of a threesome - or a foursome, whomever this Mary person is...some homophone attempt to get wedding bells for herself or the three of us?  Best I set **that** question aside for a later time._

"Uh, no.  I wrote fanfiction.  What do you think?  Granted, I haven't written any in years, but still...your thoughts?"

"My...?" Sherlock repeated.  "Wh-  Wh-  Wh-?" he tried to ask, only to change his opening question just out of the gate each time.

"So...maybe Catwoman instead?" Joan asked.

"As opposed to Poison Ivy?"

She shrugged.  "I figured Isley was a good match for you, both of you being intellectuals with a...grounded understanding of biological urges," Joan said, holding back a chuckle, barely.

"You're referring to my statements in our first year together.  Bravo," he said in a way that was not an applause.

"Damn, now I'm going to have to tell Sophia and Athena they need to return their Halloween costume."

* * *

"You knew she was writing this," Sherlock said.

Moriarty nodded.

"And you did nothing to -"

"Warn you?" she asked.  "The three of us and certain members of my organizational web may be gifted at the covert coded communication, but there are three or four things the code isn't good for."

"Fanfiction being one?"

Moriarty nodded again.

"And the others?"

"Sexting."

"You sure?" Joan called over from the other room.

* * *

I do have a question," Sherlock said, setting the pages down in his lap.

"Only one?" Joan asked.  "I suppose thats not a terrible review."

Jamie chuckled at the other end of the sofa.  

"Why me?" Sherlock asked.  "This is a fanfiction - you could have performed a self-insertion, or placed Her in it."

Moriarty gave a mock-gasp of indignation.  "You know how shy I am," she playfully berated him. 

Joan nodded.  "If she wasn't, then her web of contacts and influenceds would be no different from your own in knowing your voice and your motives."

Sherlock wordlessly accepted that that was indeed the case.

"Besides, I figured you needed something to get your mind off recent events," Joan added.

"The death of my father," he said.

Both of the women in his life nodded.  "In terms of planning," Jamie said, "Morland pulled the trigger himself.  At the scene, you took the gun from me and into your own hands.  But none of it was your fault.  You  _reacted_."

"You say that like it means nothing.  We three know better."

"Reactions have consequences," Joan agreed.  "But I think you'd be more morose had you let your father kill Her."

"So we've downgraded my action to manslaughter rather than murder."

"It may not have been a case of self-defense, but you saved Her life.  And mine."

Sherlock nodded, recalling his father pointing the pistol at Joan at one point in an attempt to break a loggerhead.

"I am glad you're both alive," he admitted, taking a step in the right direction.

* * *

"I just can't believe you wrote this," Sherlock said, plunking the ream of fiction onto the table.

"As the mighty Xena once said," Morland informed him, "I have many skills."

"Be that as it may, I have never had need of hearing you say that. Now if you will excuse me, I need to dig out my trepanning tools so as to remove your quoting her and the resultant mental image."

* * *

_**"WATSON!"** _


End file.
